A blog by Jeremy Parnell

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The clod, or the pebble?

"Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair."
So sung a little clod of clay
Trodden with the cattle's feet,
But a pebble of the brook
Warbled out these meters meet:
"Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite."